


you're my favourite academic discipline

by geniewish



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Cock Rings, Humor, M/M, Mild Painplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Top Hyungwon, bottom changkyun, its not dirty talk its reciting academic articles, its not tautology its word play, sadistic brat kyun, the title is a pun))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewish/pseuds/geniewish
Summary: hyungwon finds he studies best during sex. even better when his life is hanging by a thread from a delayed release and his sadistic boyfriend is very determined to play by the rules.(the first statement is a lie.)
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Im Changkyun | I.M
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	you're my favourite academic discipline

**Author's Note:**

> this is the shortest smut ive ever written!!!! scrambled in like , a day. so make ur own conclusions on the quality 
> 
> i reference academics in this but i changed their names bc what the fuck. also i was gonna make won something stem related but i know nothing abt stem majors, so i was like ok going w the classics – journalism, but im also shit at that, so he is a language major. im very creative 
> 
> authors note warning: be careful with Those and dont rely on the narrator when he tells u it hurts, for health risk avoidance im telling u he is just being dramatic
> 
> hope u enjoy!!

“According to Holiday, language use is determined by the notions of register, which varies according to the communicative situation. Define this notion,” Changkyun says, eyes lazily scanning the student handbook in his hand. His other hand is digging – not at all painfully, but don’t trust Hyungwon when he says that – into the crook of Hyungwon’s neck, like a gear handle that controls his pace. 

“Uh,” Hyungwon exhales thoughtfully, “what the fuck, this is, like, first-year stuff. Okay, so we have genre, so once we define the genre, we define the register and pick the correct words according to the field, tenor and mode?” His brows slope, his eyes widen, but Changkyun remains unbothered by his antics. He doesn’t even look at him.

“Partially correct, shitty phrasing, it’s – meaning choices realised through already established lexical choices that lead us to recognisable language variety based on the context of use. Plus naught point thirty seconds.”

Hyungwon groans, hangs his head. He is past the ten minute mark. His arms shake from holding himself up over Changkyun for the past––good lord, very many––minutes, his hips stutter from the torturously _unsatisfying_ pace, and his cock aches, and it aches so much he doesn’t even have anything to compare it to.

Not that it _really_ aches. He is just very, very desperate.

“Keep going, keep going,” Changkyun ushers him, lightly (not really) tapping his neck. Hyungwon thrusts, though he really doesn’t want to. Changkyun’s head rubs slightly against the pillow with each move, his chest rises prettily with each easy breath, and Hyungwon wants to fuck him into so hard it wipes that bored, relaxed expression off his face. At least he’s flushed. Hyungwon doesn’t understand how he can keep his legs spread for so long.

“Define Lovecough’s Idealised Cognitive Model,” Changkyun continues casually.

“What the fuck, that’s cognitive linguistics, I haven’t taken it in two years,” Hyungwon retorts, though he continues moving his hips at a stable pace. Changkyun squeezes around him. _Squeezes_. Hyungwon’s body spasms at the sensation, something so normally pleasing turned sadistically painful with the cockring he’s been bearing for the past… many minutes. “In semantic frames, words that have been contextualised differently because of culture or experience, separating them from their, like, dictionary definition, are called ‘idealised’,” Hyungwon explains, head hung low, a ‘Yes honey’ to Changkyun’s ‘Babe!’. 

“Bit meh about ‘words’ but sure, minus one minute,” Changkyun says and manages to flip a page with his thumb. “Keep going, Hyungwon,” he suddenly snaps, looking between them, and, alright, Hyungwon will keep it going.

He thrusts hard, aiming upwards, and Changkyun’s head rolls back and his eyes close, beautiful, marked throat column exposed. “Oh, that’s so good,” he mutters and then catches himself. “Fuck, I told you not to aim, keep it down,” he orders and for good measure smacks Hyungwon’s lower back with his heel.

“Yes, honey,” Hyungwon sighs and fucks into him shallowly. Too stable to be good. His shoulders are sore. His toes feel cold, even though the rest of his body (read: dick) is burning, and he is horribly aware of his surroundings. Sensitive to every input of information he receives, ears attuned to Changkyun’s voice like they rarely ever are on a normal occasion. 

“Give me arguments pro-Chopski,” Changkyun says and looks like he’s about to yawn. Hyungwon grits his jaw and stares Changkyun down with all the anger his body possesses until the question goes through his head.

“Chopski? Chopski… Fuck Chopski, I don’t know, I don’t agree with him.”

“Plus two,” Changkyun announces and flips a page.

“Changkyun!” Hyungwon wails, thrusting deeper with desperation now. Changkyun is hot and tight around his hot and tight skin, so hot and tight the metallic ring around the base seems to melt into him. 

“How does Foocult support the argument for your research paper?”

Hyungwon takes a second to remember what his research paper is about. “Power, knowledge, you know,” he answers in a form of a reminder to himself. Changkyun looks unimpressed but before his lips can part to announce another minute, Hyungwon shouts, “Knowledge determines power! So singling out the individual that has the knowledge determines the power imbalance, thus creating discourse. Cue Marx.”

“Don’t cue Marx,” Changkyun mumbles and then breathes out a moan. “Fuck, you feel good. Minus three minutes.”

Hyungwon triumphs. He only needs to answer a few more questions correctly, make Changkyun come and go to sleep with his little sadistic boyfriend snuggled in his arms. His torture will be over before it even fully blows out of proportion. 

His triumph is short-lived.

“Explain the use of two deictic systems and subjectivity in free indirect speech.”

Hyungwon whips his head to glare at Changkyun so fast he hears his bones crack. His hips stop. “What? That’s stylistics, I don’t take stylistics.”

Changkyun shrugs with the corners of his unimpressed mouth. “Says so in the handbook that you made with your own hands.” And then Changkyun raises his furious sharp eyes at him. “Keep! Going! Plus three. That’s thirteen minutes and thirty seconds as of now.”

Hyungwon groans, though truth be told, he is on the verge of crying. Overstimulated, constrained, his hips move on autopilot and his blood pumps adrenaline to his brain. He is starting to doubt this method. This very own method he created when he found out he could think about sociolinguistics and semiotics and English language during a particularly unenjoyable sex. 

Maybe that’s the loophole. Hyungwon enjoys Changkyun too much. Even when he is being a horrible, sadistic brat. 

“How are you gonna implement corpus-based methodology into your research––”

“Oh, that’s easy. Since corpus data is easily ordered by criteria––”

“According to Swalla, 2007?” Changkyun jumps in, stunning Hyungwon motionless again. “Keep the hips moving, Hyungwon!”

“I haven’t done the reading yet!” Hyungwon shouts back, and Changkyun’s dainty little fingers and his sharp, lacerating nails dig into the bite marks on the slope of his shoulder.

“Give me half a mark answer, at least.” Oh, mercy. 

“As I said, corpus generates texts, so I can gather data for a specific language use and calculate approximate frequency of that use based on… that?”

Either he is losing his mind, or Changkyun has indeed grown loose. Could be a mix of both. The friction is barely palpable, the supple thighs between his hips feel even softer, and he realises it’s because his boyfriend is having the time of his life. Relaxing into Hyungwon’s movements like some pillow prince extraordinaire. The look in Changkyun’s eyes has grown hazier, like he is the one reading through the ache of a denied orgasm. 

“Yeah, whatever. Plus one naught thirty. Losing your grip, Hyungwon.” Changkyun moans then, his eyes fluttering close. “Don’t aim,” he whines, or maybe growls, and arches his spine into Hyungwon, trying to rub his dick between their stomachs. It isn’t working. 

Hyungwon braces himself and fucks deeper into Changkyun on the remainders of his strength, not aiming. It’s pointless, really. No matter what he does, he fills Changkyun up too good, moulding his firm little body to himself, bending him under a guiding palm and for a guiding cock. 

“Alright, give me the last few, I’ll nail them.” Changkyun gives him the last few, and Hyungwon doesn’t nail them.

(At least that’s how it normally is. On a normal day when Changkyun doesn’t feel like a sadistic brat, binding Hyungwon’s hands behind him, shoving him on his knees and stepping on his hard-on, though those normal days are, indeed, very few. Huh. Maybe essays aren't the only things Hyungwon isn’t destined to submit.)

“Plus one. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Changkyun cuts and then cuts himself off. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Okay, last one. Explain the two ways in which conceptual metaphor can be productive?”

Hyungwon shrinks into a spiky ball of rage. “That’s also cog––never mind,” he bites on his tongue and breathes out. It’s okay. He is only a little bit in pain. His brain shoots up answers. “One way is lexical, meaning that words can code and elaborate, conveying aspects of a metaphor to extent, such as ‘thrusting’ and ‘railing’ as sex movements are understood through the terms of violence. The second one is through entailments, meaning that the source domain, violence, carries over knowledge to the target domain, sex.”

Changkyun frowns at the handbook, then shrugs dismissively and tosses it aside. “I don’t think railing as a sex-related neologism has anything to do with the violence domain, but sure, minus two.” Then both his arms fly to wrap around Hyungwon’s neck and pull him down onto himself. Hyungwon bends his elbows and nearly lands his face squarely into the pillows. “Now, if you don’t rail me, I will add another five minutes to your punishment,” Changkyun whispers menacingly into his ear, and Hyungwon rails him so hard he thinks his dick might fall off. 

Changkyun shudders and moans deep and coarse. He doesn’t have to arch like a pretty boy to find friction for his own neglected dick, for Hyungwon does all the work for him, and when Changkyun finally scratches down his back with a too-sexy, “Come on, babe, I’m gonna come,” and does exactly as promised, the bed still creaks with fantom afterglows of Hyungwon’s exertion. 

Tears brim the corners of his eyes but he holds them back, wipes his stuffy nose on Changkyun’s damp shoulder. His buttocks ache. Fucking Changkyun is a workout on its own. And while his boyfriend is lying empty-headed beneath him, exhaling little hums in his post-orgasmic reliefs, Hyungwon’s skull is buzzing. Mainly with ache and worry for his member, but also for his deadlines, sure. 

If he doesn’t pull out, he’ll absolutely convince himself that instead of a nice cock there is now an ever-burning pit of melted metal in his crotch. So he pulls out, unsticks himself from Changkyun’s sticky sweaty tummy. The heated air of the bedroom touches on his too-sensitive tip, nearly sending Hyungwon toppling over on top of Changkyun again. He releases a shuddering breath, sits back on his haunches. Looks down at his red, stiff flesh and the ring squeezing him around the base. The metal catches onto the soothing lights and glints at him, as if winking with all the wickedness this world has to offer. 

Changkyun gathers himself and then gives up, spreads his lazy legs on either side of Hyungwon’s bent knees instead. Hyungwon’s heavy head is hung low, long hair hiding his eyes. His fingers dig into the rumpled sheets. 

“How many minutes?” he gravely asks, quite like a ghost, lifeless like a corpse.

“Eighteen,” Changkyun says like this fact alone is so amusing he might get tummy aches. “Though you almost crossed a half-hour boundary at some point.” He reaches for the nightstand and takes his phone, and Hyungwon shrinks more into himself, pitiful and naked like some Gollum, and tries to breathe.

Begging for Changkyun’s mercy won’t do a damn thing, not when the little brat is in this headspace and strives on making others miserable. Pleading his innocence also won’t work; Hyungwon said it himself – motivate me to study. So Changkyun motivated him to the best of his abilities and shoved him one foot into the grave. He even trimmed for this. What the fuck.

“Changkyun,” Hyungwon whispers, quite like a stalking serial killer, lifeless like an imprisoned serial killer. 

“What,” Changkyun briefly glances at him over his phone. Hyungwon stays quiet. Changkyun sets the timer for eighteen minutes and sinks back into the sheets, having the time of his life. “Did you remember anything from today?”

Changkyun absently (but not really) starts drawing patterns on his torso, weaving around little white stains dried on his warm skin, circling his navel, pinching thin hairs of his happy trail, so unabashed and _infuriating_. Unashamedly spreading himself before Hyungwon, knowing damn well Hyungwon is looking, he plans on making his life a living hell.

Hyungwon has no choice but to blow low. 

“You know, Changkyun,” he mutters again, lacklustre, dready. “You’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever met.”

Changkyun looks up at him and stays looking. Hyungwon slowly raises his head, his long hair falls to the sides, his face finally coming into light. “What,” Changkyun repeats. 

Hyungwon stares at him like he wants to remember every detail of him before he inevitably dies a tragic, heroic death. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so smart. You’re the best boyfriend in the world. When I’m with you, nothing exists but your brilliant smile and your dainty, delicate hands in mine.”

Changkyun frowns, raises himself a little. His eyes widen, scandalised. “What the fuck?”

Fingers digging hard into the soft pouches of his bent knees, Hyungwon suppresses a shiver. He needs to come so bad. Watching Changkyun’s bratty glint slowly dull to make way for this insecure puppy confusion is definitely not helping his case. “All I want to do is kiss you until my mouth feels numb. I want to kiss every millimetre of your body, let you know that you’re perfect through and through, and you drive me crazy––”

“Stop it,” Changkyun warns him, but his voice lacks the threat. 

“And every time I see you I just want to pounce you and fuck you against every surface available, that’s how you make me lose my mind, and I have a very rational mind, you know. I want to dedicate my life worshipping you, I’ll make my bed an altar––”

“Hyungwon!” Changkyun exclaims, and his hand flies to snap over his mouth. Hyungwon pauses. Stoically looks at Changkyun as if giving him a warning that one wrong word – and Hyungwon will continue. “You know what would really flatter me? If you actually studied and memorised your shit.” He says all that, but his voice is trembling. Terrified of what Hyungwon is capable of, and he is capable of a _lot_. A language major for a reason, et cetera, et cetera. 

“Why should I spend my precious time learning things that matter less than you?” Hyungwon surges forward, plants his hands on either side of Changkyun’s open hips, startling him. “Don’t you know you’re the only thing I want to learn? I don’t need nobody else, Changkyun, you’re everything I need and more––”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘anybody else’,” Changkyun mumbles, big eyes filling with heavy regret and tears, as if he is contemplating his whole life while trying not to get weak in his knees. Not that he can, because he is already lying down, all weak and near-weepy and fighting his inner demons, but were he pressed against the wall, Hyungwon would have needed to catch him in his arms. 

“I want to show you off to all my friends and every stranger, I want everyone to know what a pretty little boyfriend I have, who’s always so good to me, who’s so clever I could quit university because I only need him to listen to. I could burn down museums and build a new one just for you, every room dedicated to one part of your body, from head to toes, Changkyun, from your pretty little head to your cute little toes––”

“Stop!” Changkyun shouts and hides his face behind his delicate little hands. Though muffled and quiet, Hyungwon still hears him sniff. Changkyun peeks at him between the fingers. Hyungwon is still staring at him. “Fine! God,” he groans and sits up. His whole face is flushed and his eyes are glistening. With shaky hands he reaches for Hyungwon’s dick, and, finally, at last, he is free.

Changkyun slides the ring off him.

He is halfway there to his overdue relief. 

Just when Changkyun is about to _hmph_ and plop back on the pillows, Hyungwon grabs his wrist, tight. He is the cliché Hollywood villain now. There’s fire burning in his eyes, there’s oil sizzling in the pool of his stomach.

“Help me out, Changkyunnie,” he exhales in his face. “Be a good boy that you are to me.”

Changkyun fixes him with a very judgemental look, but deep inside he is upset. Upset that Hyungwon dares exploiting his weakness like that to get out of a deal _he_ made for himself. 

But like a good boy he is, Changkyun wraps his hand around Hyungwon’s awfully hard cock and strokes him. Not at his own pace – at Hyungwon’s pace. He controls him by the grip on his wrist, essentially flicking his hand up and down at a speed that makes him cramp. He moans, rises on his knees, still between Changkyun’s legs, and wonders why he did that when he feels like blacking out. 

His skin is inflamed. This is too much, this is too damn much, and Changkyun’s little mouth tightened with concentration and his sloped eyebrows aren’t helping either. It takes Hyungwon this little to spasm, from his shoulders to his hips, and come nice and thick on Changkyun’s rolled tummy with a sob.

It always hits him hard. But now it completely demolishes him, annihilates him, wipes him out. The furthest extent in the domain of violence. Whatever it was. 

He exhales with so much relief he should be casted to advertise a soda. Oh, this refreshing taste of freedom. His hand limply walls to the side, the delicate hand around his shaft also disappears, but he doesn’t miss the weight. His mind is empty. Not a thought in that head of his.

Hyungwon stretches with a pleased purr and falls into the pillows, immediately nuzzling into the soft sheets that are so nice and soft and non-threatening against his crotch, leaving the prince of said pillows to get up with a groan and clean himself. 

“Can’t even help me in return,” Changkyun grumbles. Hyungwon remains blissfully unaware of his sufferings and only shows he is alive when Changkyun climbs back under the blanket.

Hyungwon blindly flings his arms around his boyfriend and tugs him closer, happily snuggles him like a big plushie. His lips curl into a smile. 

“Don’t have a single thought in your head, do you?” Changkyun asks. Hyungwon rubs his head in lieu of a shake. 

“Nope.”

Changkyun sighs. “So torture doesn’t work,” he muses, evidently very disappointed and still just a tad bit upset about that praise exploitation trick Hyungwon pulled. 

“Oh, it works just fine. I remembered everything we went over. You should try it,” Hyungwon says way too happily, now way too mellow for the inner turmoil he ignited in Changkyun’s little head. 

“Whatever,” Changkyun grumbles and tries to cuddle closer. Hyungwon’s arms are heavy and unbudging around him, leaving nowhere for Changkyun to fixate his own hands on. “In this relationship I’m the one koala-ing, not the other way round,” he gripes and wiggles some more in Hyungwon’s deathly hold. Hyungwon hugs him tighter. 

“Do you wanna check me again?”

By the way his whole body grows frigid, Hyungwon can tell the blood in Changkyun’s veins freezes. “No.”

“First, we define genre in terms of culture as only in culture the semiotic functions of a text have its own social values––”

Next time, Changkyun should resort to just kicking him in the knackers instead.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed!! even though its short m subpar, i'll be very happy w feedback for it equals +1 relevant knowledge in hyungwons empty head!!
> 
> im on twt @chaeleggiewon


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